


Something About December

by distractionpie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Furbies, Gift Giving, M/M, Mistletoe, Post-Break Up, bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21622399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie
Summary: Coming home for the holidays means a lot of things to Jean: no studying, home cooking, and being back in the same town as his ex-boyfriend.Breaking up was supposed to protect them both from the pain of long-distance, but Jean's spent the last three months learning the meaning of absence makes the heart grow fonder and now he has to face up to exactly what he's been missing.
Relationships: Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 37
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the time I make these rules for myself: don't start posting chapter fic until all the chapters are at least drafted; if you're going to post chapter fic without having a finished draft at least don't do it to a deadline; definitely don't publish fic until you've figured out the ending.
> 
> And then what do I go and do?
> 
> Look, it turns out the festive plot bunny bites.
> 
> This is coming very off the cuff so it might be a little bit choppy, feel free to point out in the comments if I stop making sense, but I really am aiming to get this all written and posted in the month of December.

It’s strange, being back home after three months away. The place is familiar, after all he spent the first eighteen years of his life here, but he’s become accustomed to busier streets, taller buildings, and the neighbourhood in which he was raised is small and quiet by comparison.

And the grocery store seems woefully overstocked. Jean‘s grown used to the corner store near his university accommodation, which is piled high with ramen noodles and energy drinks, with a single stack of shelves devoted to fresh produce and another to toiletries, with a row of self-scan tills which meant he could be in and out in five minutes flat.

He’s been wandering around his hometown superstore for fifteen minutes now and he still hasn‘t found the yams. They‘ve definitely rearranged the place since he was last in here and he‘s started to suspect they‘ve built an extension too because the aisles goes on forever. Who needs thirty varieties of dish soap?

After getting distracted by a display full of a weird of leftover halloween junk and what he hopes in next rather than last years valentines stock, he’s squinting at signs trying to pre-plan how to find the remaining items on his mothers list so he doesn’t have to keep doubling back on himself.

The familiar face in the home-wares aisle almost passes him by.

Almost.

But with all their history and the feelings lingering in his heart, Jean can’t be in Marco’s vicinity and not be aware of him.

He looks good.

And wrapped up in navy pea-coat with his hair styled into something a little more fashionable than his adorable but old-school centre part, he looks grown up, like college has turned him into a real adult, unlike Jean who definitely still looks and feels like an overgrown kid. Marco is examining a box of candles, and when he starts to look up, Jean panics and ducks behind the display of turkey ornaments.

It’s not the most dignified of moves, but Jean doesn’t care.

There’s no way he’s going to go the whole two weeks of the break without encountering Marco; and he wouldn’t want to, he’s missed his oldest friend and seeing Marco now has only made his longing stronger. But when they do meet again, it’ll be on Jean’s own terms. He will look hot and be telling a story about his cool new college friends and all the exciting things they’ve done, make a show of at least vaguely being able to compete with how good the past few months have clearly been for Marco. Their breakup might have been an amicable one, but that’s all the more reason not to want Marco to see him wearing fuck-ugly snowman sweater and carrying a basket of assorted condiments because his mom is deep in the midst of her yearly holiday meltdown about Christmas dinner even though it’s only the two of them and after a term of having to fend for himself in the culinary department Jean would be happy with box mac and cheese for the big day as long as she’s the one cooking it.

It’s certainly going to be a weird Christmas dinner if he can’t finish the shopping because he’s too busy hiding from Marco, uncertain what frightens him more: the prospect of them really talking for the first time since their breakup or the prospect that if he sees Jean, Marco will brush him off. They’d both said they’d stay in touch, that they were cutting out the romance not destroying their whole relationship, but it’s been a blatant lie. If Marco challenged him on it, Jean would blame the chaos of starting college and it wouldn’t even be untrue — a new city, new classes, new people, he’s far from the only person he knows who has kind of sucked at keeping in touch with friends from back home — but he’s kept in better touch with all the friends who aren’t also his ex-boyfriend. Not that he thinks Marco would call him out: firstly, he’s too nice, and if he did, he’d be leaving himself exposed because Marco hasn’t made any real effort to keep in contact with Jean either. There’s been a few texts, the odd liking of a social media post, but that’s the sort of connection you have with a classmate you never really had much common ground with, not a best friend since middle school.

But maybe that’s what being exes is like, and, on the days he thinks that: Jean regrets dating Marco at all.

For seventeen and a half months, most of their final two years of high school, it had been perfect in a way that’s hard to regret, but when things had ended between them it had also proven to be the ending of their friendship. Maybe going to college in different cities would have hurt that anyway, but Jean is fairly sure if they’d just been friends they’d have stayed in touch better and he wouldn’t have felt Marco’s absence so keenly with every new connection he formed with people who were okay but not Marco.

Setting aside the mess of the breakup, Jean misses his best friend. But they aren’t best friends anymore and the few weeks between the breakup and them both moving had been agonisingly awkward and although he’d hoped time and distance would make things better, the fact the sight of Marco has driven him to hiding behind artificial poultry is not a good omen.

He’s backing down the aisle, it’s probably a safe place to wait for a while, because why would Marco come up the weird seasonal junk aisle and planning to resume his shopping once Marco has had time to leave, and so he nearly trips at a voice from behind him.

“Jean Kirschtein. I didn‘t expect to see you again.“

Oh fuck.

Running into Marco would have been bad, but this is the nightmare scenario.

Jean turns slowly, fighting the urge to raise his hands in surrender, and offers Eva a tight smile.

“Home for Christmas,“ he says, and hopes the stab of pain at the implication she‘d never see him again because Marco doesn’t want to see him isn‘t too obvious. It wouldn‘t do to show weakness. All of Marco‘s sisters terrify him, but, as the oldest, Eva has always been the worst. She‘d taken it upon herself to give Jean a full ‘break his heart and I‘ll break your neck‘ speech when they’d first got together that had been more than slightly traumatic, and from the way she‘s glaring at him now she didn‘t get the memo about his and Marco‘s breakup being mutual.

“And adulting so responsibly,” Eva remarks, casting a scornful eye over his unevenly loaded basket. “I bet you’re quite the hit in Trost.”

Jean flushes. She’s just guessing, but the hit still lands. She’s never exactly been his biggest fan, but once Eva had kept her exasperation to the fond kind, if only for her brother’s sake, and her overt disdain makes him feel smaller than he has since the breakup happened.

“I… I’m just getting some stuff for Christmas dinner,” Jean says, hating how pathetic he sounds. This ought to be good practise for his eventual run in with Marco, but he’s certain that Marco would never look at him with as much blatant loathing as Eva is.

“Urgh. Whatever. I’d say stay away from my brother,” Eva scowls. “But I know you have too many friends in common not to end up at the same parties. But if you try anything…”

“I’m his friend!” Jean snaps. Things might be bad now, but he refuses to accept that everything has been damaged irreparably between them. He’ll get over his lingering feelings and regrets and the awkwardness will fade. By the time summer comes and they’re back home for more than a few weeks, it will probably be like they never dated at all.

“Some friend,” Eva scoffs. “Messing with his emotions for so long and then leaving.”

That’s not fair. He’d never set out to play with Marco, he just hadn’t been able to think big picture at the time, too caught up in teenage infatuation to think about the natural expiry date of high school romance. There’s just as much room to argue that Marco had screwed with his feelings, Jean certainly feels like it, but he knows that wouldn’t go down well with Eva and it’s not fair to Marco too, who had been just as naïve and had no way of knowing that them going their separate ways had broken Jean’s heart.

But arguing with Eva will get him nowhere, and, if he lingers too long, then Marco might come looking for his sister and find her arguing with Jean.

“Merry Christmas Eva,” he says firmly, because the Bodt’s had been like a second family to him once, no matter how much Eva no longer returns the sentiment, then hikes his basket up his arm and abandons his plans of hiding in favour of hurrying towards the tills.

“He’s well rid of you,” she hisses at his retreating back. “Coward.”

Jean is halfway home before he realises he forgot the yams.


	2. Chapter 2

His encounter with Eva and his near miss with Marco linger of Jean’s mind.

He’d known that breaking up and expecting everything to go back to how it was before they were dating was naïve, but he hadn’t expected the terror that had seized him at the sight of Marco and he certainly hadn’t expected the icy reception from Eva. There’s no reason for her to feel anything at all about Jean except in relation to Marco so her ire has Jean wondering if there’s dislike in the distance that has grown between them.

And even if Eva is no reflection of Marco, she’s like a reflection of the rest of the family, and if the Bodt’s are no longer accepting him it’s going to be a lot harder to get Marco’s Christmas present to him, short of putting himself through the mortifying ordeal of giving it to Marco directly, which is a decidedly last resort sort of option.

Handing things face to face would be a disaster, because if he does that there’s the risk that Marco will open it right away and then one of two things will happen: Marco will be uncomfortable because the gift gives away how far from over him Jean is; or Marco will ignore the awkwardness in favour of earnest appreciation and if he smiles one of those blinding affection filled smiles it won’t matter if he only means it in a friendly way because Jean fell in love with that smile and he won’t be able to hide the fact he still is.

Jean can’t even go to any of their mutual friends from high school because they’ll all say idiotic things like ‘do it yourself’ or ‘you’re really making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be’ because they don’t understand the seriousness of this situation and there’s no way he’s going to embarrass himself by admitting he’s failed to get over his high school boyfriend.

The fundamental problem is, what Jean’s got Marco isn’t a gift you give an ex-boyfriend. It’s not a gift you give anything other than the best of friends. The moment Marco unwraps it, he’s going to know Jean’s pretence of being too busy at college to even think of him for the absurd lie that it is because spotting the rare golden furby tucked away on a corner table of a garage sale could only happen to somebody who was passionate about collection the demonic toys, or who loved somebody who was. Though at least since it’s wrapped in cheap paper Marco might assume he’d found a lucky bargain, when the reality was Jean ended up in a bidding war with another collector and ended up having to beg the seller to let him run to an ATM to get more cash out so he could pay the exorbitant price at which the other bidder had finally backed out. He’d ended scrounging lunches of his friends for the rest of the month, a tricky thing to manage when Sasha had already called permanent dibs on everybody’s leftovers.

In the moment he hadn’t been thinking of anything other than how pleased Marco would be, the way he’d smile that perfect smile and be proud of Jean for setting aside his loathing of the toys with their cold dead eyes and whining demands, giving the toy pride of place on his shelf as a reminder of Jean’s place in his life.

Except Jean has no place and the demonic thing had haunted him ever since. Not just with its horrible staring face but as a constant reminder of Marco and the fact that all the feelings and instincts Jean has are now unwelcome.

He could just throw it out. Nobody would need to know. It would be a waste of money, but it was his money to waste.

Except he’d bought the damn thing because he’d known it would be precious to Marco. That Marco wouldn’t know any different wouldn’t protect Jean from his own conscience, tossing out a rare and much wanted collectable. And a part of him, a stupid mostly delusional part of him, still keeps imagining Marco’s smile. If he could find some way to give it to Marco that would give him all the joy and none of the awkwardness of it being from his ex…

Wait.

He could give it to Marco, but not from him.

An anonymous gift.

Marco is well liked enough for it to be plausible. Jean wouldn’t get the benefits of being the cause of Marco’s happiness but that was a privilege he’d already given up, it’s fruitless to try to steal it back now.

He’ll have to use different paper so it doesn’t match the gifts he’s giving his other friends, but this is a perfect solution. Marco gets all the happiness with none of the awkward and possibly-creepy-ness. And Jean is spared the humiliation of admitted how pathetic he still is and gets the Furby’s awful staring eyes out of his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean is a drama baby about his feelings, i don't make the rules.  
> Also friday is my birthday and nothing says happy birthday like comments 😉


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consistent chapter lengths? don't know them

It’s only after several days of no more near run-ins with Marco that it turns occurs to Jean that Marco might be avoiding him with the same studiousness that Jean had avoided him with in the supermarket. The town is too small and their mutual friends too numerous for there to have been no more coincidences without it being planned. If nothing else, their friends are making a deliberate effort not to invite either of them to events the other is attending.

But there’s no avoiding Mina’s annual holiday party. Jean and she might not be close but they share a social circle and Mina’s party was always one of the highlights of the season growing up, all of his friends will be there and if Jean doesn’t show they’ll be at his door to drag him.

So to avoid either sort of mortification, Jean gets up early on the day of the party spends what he can admit to himself is a pathetic amount of time in front of this mirror. There’s probably something wrong with putting more effort into his appearance because he’ll be seeing ex than he ever does for dates, but agreeing that breaking up was the smart choice doesn’t erase the fact that Jean wants Marco to want him. Which means shimmying his way into jeans that flaunt the fact he’s managed to doge the freshers fifteen and styling his hair with more than just his fingers.

He looks good when he leaves his room and both his look and his confidence mostly survive his mother pinching his cheeks and cooing over how she remembers the first party Mina’s family had thrown and how excitable he had been.

It’s been uncommonly mild this December so, since he’s likely to drink at the party, he walks over rather than having to worry about fetching his car back tomorrow. 

Even if he hadn’t grown up around here, it would be easy to find Mina’s party. Her house is objectively an eyesore, decked from the foundation to the chimney stack in rainbow lights, the lawn festooned with fake snow and inflatable holiday figures. It’s hideously tacky and Jean has seen mall grottos go less overboard with the holiday decorations, although at least this year they’ve shown sense regarding the whole putting plastic antlers on horses to make fake reindeer.

Honestly, Mina’s family makes him so glad that his mom’s worst excess is hanging wreathes on every door in the house.

It’s an open door kind of event, manners dictate he find Mina at some point to say ‘hi’ but she’s the host rather than the subject of this party so first he makes his way to the kitchen, helping himself to a generous plate of snacks and chatting to some guys he shared classes with but wasn’t close enough to keep in contact with after graduation.

After a while at the party, talking to old acquaintances and eating way too many sugar cookies, the dread he felt about the whole event is just starting to seem ridiculous, these people are his friends: he endured all the humiliations of adolescence alongside them and what could possibly be worse than that?

As much as he’s loved getting to explore somewhere new (and the freedom of his mom not knowing his every movement via neighbourhood gossip) it’s nice to be home, to be surrounded by familiar faces and retell old stories and laugh at inside jokes. He hasn’t been homesick while he’s been away, the only thing he’s really missed has been Marco, but that doesn’t mean it’s not good to be back.

He’s listening to Milieus talk about how community college is going, when the door to the foyer swings open and Jean catches sight of Marco and is ruined all over again.

Who did Jean think he was fooling? There was no facade in the world that could hide what Marco does to him or protect him from his own feelings and all the bravado he’s clinging to can’t change the fact that when Marco walked out of his life Jean is pretty sure he lost the best thing he’ll ever have.

Greeting Mina with a warm smile and wrapped up in dark jeans that cling to his muscled curves and a slightly faded Christmas-tree-green sweater that Jean remembers from previous winters as sinfully soft, Marco looks like nothing so much as a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

If this were for him, Jean would be dragging Marco into the nearest secluded corner and showing his appreciation, but he knows it’s not. Jean might have put in a shit ton of effort to impress his ex, but Marco probably just rolled out of bed and grabbed the first clean things in his drawers. Jean might have to consider dropping his standards for the next person he dates, because one unfairly gorgeous ex is more than enough.

And just to pile on the damage, when Marco turns their eyes meet.

Jean had suspect that today would be the day they’d finally have to face each other, but he all his anticipation had left him unprepared for feeling caught so off guard. He’d relaxed, chatting with old friends, and now all of him plans to play it cool have fallen apart.

“Uh…” Milieus sputters, startling him out of his reverie. “I need a… I need some air.”

Or rather, he needs not to get stuck in the middle in Jean’s awkward reunion with his ex. Jean can’t even blame Milieus as he flees, he’d kind of like to do the same.

But Marco is walking over.

Jean takes a deep breath, setting aside his place.

He can do this.

He’s going to be calm and suave and make ever appearance of a guy that’s totally moved on. It doesn’t matter that his attempts to be cool and glamorous might be fooling nobody — sure he looks hot but compared to Marco’s cosy sweater and casual but well fitting jeans combo Jean probably just comes across desperate and over-dressed for a party at a friends place, not like Marco who looks comfortable and relaxed — saving what remains of the friendship demands he pulls this off.

“Hey.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Why would he voice pick this moment to crack like it hasn’t done since puberty?

But if Marco notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Hi Jean, it’s good to see you.”

Is it? And is that good news that Marco is pleased to see him, or awful that Marco clearly feels more casually about this than Jean?

Jean’s leaning towards the latter.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Oh, y’know,” Marco says. “The past few months have been a big change.”

He’s talking about Jinae, not the breakup. Jean knows this. But he suddenly can’t think of anything to say that isn’t about _their history,_ even though it would be totally inappropriate to drag up.

“How about you?” Marco says, just as the silence is turning awkward. “How was your trip back?”

“Not bad,” Jean says. “I packed up in advance and came straight from my last class, so I beat most of the traffic of people leaving town for the holidays. How was the road from Jinae?”

“I only have one class on Fridays and the professor cancelled it so they could get home, so I headed back early too. And there’s been no major weather disruptions this year.”

Oh god. The weather… Is such bullshit small talk all they have between them now? Even if their breakup had been bad, they ought to be able to manage better conversation than this. They were friends for a lot longer than they were dating, it shouldn’t be so difficult to go back to that relationship.

Then again, he’d not so much as fallen for Marco as realised that perfection had been in reach this whole time, that there’d been more than friendly fondness tying him to the person he liked most in the world, the affection between them had always been natural, sliding from friendly to more and now Jean isn’t sure where to draw the line.

Some friends were big on boundaries and other friendships involved draping all over each other and casually cuddling — damn what anyone else thinks — and Jean has always been the second type with Marco but he’s the first with everyone else, his comfort with Marco perhaps a sign of his brewing feelings before he’d even realised them.

The short of it being, his instincts are telling him to sit on the couch and get Marco to join him, but he’s pretty sure once he’s there his instincts are going to tell him to cuddle up to Marco and talk about real shit like how their lives are going and how much Jean still cares for him, that’s a road he knows he can’t go down anymore.

“So, uh, nice seeing you but I promised I’d go help Armin with stuff,” he says instead, stepping back.

Smooth. Very smooth. Definitely a strong first step to rebuilding their friendship. This won’t look to anybody like he’s running away from his ex to avoid confronting his remaining feelings.

But Marco says, “Oh, that’s kind of you. I know he’s been helping Mina with keeping the party running smoothly—” which Jean hadn’t known “—I think I’ll grab a drink.”

That’s fine. Armin isn’t a kitchen lurker at parties, he’ll probably be upstairs or outside so it’s the perfect excuse to go their separate ways as soon as they leave the room and—

“Mistletoe!”

Oh.

Fuck.

Jean looks up, taking in the white berries and elongated leaves. Mina’s family are the classic type, who have even gone to the trouble of getting the real stuff rather than just tacking up some holly and hoping nobody will notice the difference, which means apparently the tradition is being taking seriously.

Sure enough, when he tries to push through the doorway regardless, Eren cuts him off with a malicious grin.

“No grinches allowed at this party,” he announces, voice deliberately loud and grabbing the attention of the other partygoers. “Pucker up.”

“Fuck off, Eren,” Jean grumbles, but his shove does nothing. Damn Eren’s freakish level of strength for such a useless guy.

He could push harder, but there’s no way Eren would take that lying down and being the asshole who gets into a fistfight at the Christmas party feels like a last resort option. Instead, he cranes his neck to look past Marco, hoping for a plan B. Mikasa and Armin both have the power to call Eren off, but Armin is nowhere to be seen and despite his youthful efforts Mikasa has never once sided with Jean over Eren.

“It’s fine,” Marco cuts in. “C’mon Eren, very funny, but this isn’t the place to be kidding around, you’re stopping other people getting through.”

“Sorry Marco,” Eren says. Asshole. How come he's sorry about forcing Marco into this position but when it’s Jean it’s funny? “Mistletoe means kissing. Even though I’m not sure kissing a horse-faced guy has the same chance of getting a prince as kissing a toad does.”

“Shut the fuck up, Eren,” Jean snaps. That joke is obnoxious at the best of times, but right now, when he wishes nothing more than to be transformed into a guy that can have Marco again, it seriously pisses him off. “It’s a little creepy how into this you are. Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“Rules are rules,” Eren says, as if he’s ever stuck to that belief before in his life. “You’re under the mistletoe, so kissing is tradition. Marco respects tradition, right?”

Marco shrugs. He’s got too much brains to actually think this is a good idea, but of course he’s too polite to kick up a fuss in the middle of the party.

“It’s dumb,” Jean argues. “Who even put that stuff up there?” In this day and age surely it’s some sort of sexual harassment offence to have it, let alone make people go through with the kissing part. Sure, Mina liked cutesy old-fashioned stuff but, even if it was her parents who placed it there, it should have been taken down for the party - hadn’t anybody told her that was weird to force on guests.

“Mina’s family put a lot of effort into decorating,” Marco says. “And it is a popular tradition. I’m sure she meant it in good fun.”

“What? You’re letting Eren get away with this bullshit?”

“Jean…” his name, low and soft, Marco’s voice in that tone has always made him melt, and Jean’s heart jumps. It might be over between them, but if Marco is offering to kiss him? It could just be an unwillingness to fight with Eren or be disagreeable in front of so many of their friends, but Marco was always the strongest of them when it came to resisting peer pressure to do stupid or unwanted things, so maybe Jean’s efforts haven’t been for nothing and Marco does still want him, at least a little. But Jean is just left aching as Marco continues, “Let’s just get it over with and he’ll leave off.”

Ouch. They used to kiss for hours and now it’s just a burden Marco wants to get over and done. Jean can’t face this, but nobody seems willing to show him a lick of mercy and the longer he stands here resisting the more it rubs in that something which ought to have been simple and natural has become this agonising mess.

Jean hasn’t been the nicest this year, but he doesn’t deserve this.

“Seriously, you can’t stand there all day,” he reminds Eren, in a last ditch effort. If he just holds out long enough Eren might get bored and give up, but it’s a long shot given how stubborn he knows Eren can be, and him dragging this out like that might be as awkward as just getting it done, drawing more attention to the fact he’s trapped under the mistletoe with somebody he’s not supposed to want to kiss anymore.

“Jean, it’s… this doesn’t have to be…” Marco says, with a grimace, shifting as he glances around at the onlookers. “Please?”

Fuck. He sounds pained. Is it the audience, or is the prospect of kissing Jean so horrifying to him now?

Either way, Jean doesn’t have the heart to drag this out. Time to bite the bullet. “Urgh, fine,” he says, and doesn’t add the ‘for you’ as he steps closer to Marco.

As Marco leans in, Jean breathes deep, taking in the mixed scent of Marco’s pine shower gel and the spicy cologne he only applies on special occasions. Every winter Jean used to accidentally on purpose forget his scarves so regularly he must have looked like an idiot, just so that Marco would offer up his own and Jean could spend the whole day wrapped in that scent. And with the aroma flooding his senses like this, it’s impossible to fight the memories of being held in Marco’s embrace, and the longing that provokes is enough for Jean to unfold his arms, giving into Marco’s pull.

And then Marco turns his head.

The brush of lips landing high on his cheek, like Marco is trying to avoid even the smallest chance of this being mistake for a real kiss, stops Jean cold and he blinks open eyes he’d shut as he lost himself in sense memory.

Marco is already stepping back, flushed beneath his freckles with a frown marring his brow, as if he’s just been forced to endure some unpleasant exertion. Well, of course he is. They broke up and by all accounts he’s moved on. He’s not desperately missing the press of Jean’s lips or the warmth of familiar hands cradling his face.

In that, Jean is alone.

Marco gives an awkward chuckle and Jean can feel his face heat with frustration and humiliation, but hopefully everybody will blame it on the discomfort of the situation and not because he’d been expecting a real kiss.

Fuck. Jean needs to get out of here.

He turns and Eren either decides the most glancing of cheek kisses is an acceptable concession to tradition or realises that Jean really will deck him, party be damned, if he doesn’t get out of the way because suddenly his path is clear. Marco had already stated his intent to go to the kitchen so Jean can’t go there, he’s not sure he can ever look Marco in the eye again after that rejection of a kiss.

Fortunately, entering the dining room comes with the revelation that Mina’s parents seem to be of the view that college students are old enough to enjoy a little festive booze. Egg nog is revolting, but Jean’s not feeling picky and at least it will wash the taste of disappointment from his mouth.

Because as much as he’d argued against it, he’d wanted Marco to kiss him.

And that awkward peck on the cheek is the most intimate he’s been with somebody in months.

He’d tried to throw himself into the university dating scene when he’d first arrived, a distraction had seemed like the perfect method to push away how badly he missed Marco, but the whole experience had been unfulfilling. Perhaps meaningless hookups with strangers was fun when all you had for comparison to was sexual frustration, but the few times he’d giving it a go with someone Jean had just been unsettled. He didn’t want strange hands grabbing at him or grinding in clubs with somebody who was only interested in using him as a means to get off.

Making love is such an old-fashioned term, but everything Jean had done with Marco had been affectionate, even during their earliest fumbling experimentation and horny fooling around in the back-seat of Marco’s parents mini-van, Jean had trusted Marco, cared about him and known that he was cared for in return. Drunkenly exchanging handjobs with a classmate who thought that his name was ‘John’ was unbearably sleazy in comparison and after a few weeks Jean had given up trying to get into the party scene and figured he’d leave serious dating prospect out of consideration until he was less hung up on Marco. Except he hadn’t got less hung up on Marco and even that disaster of a kiss hadn’t helped — knowing Marco doesn’t want him anymore changes nothing about Jean’s feelings.

He takes another swing of egg nog.

At he least he’s sure of where he stands now.


	4. Chapter 4

Jean goes full hermit for a few days after Mina’s party. And why not? Christmas in a time for family which means spending time at home with his mother, not being seen by anybody who witnessed the way all the guy he’s still in love with wanted to do with him under the mistletoe was a kiss more chaste than he’d give to his grandma.

There’s only so many times he can blow people off though before they start to call him on being an asshole and soon he’ll be back in Trost without the option of seeing most of his hometown friends so as the big day draws near he accepts an invitation to hang out with Armin for the afternoon.

Eren is there too, which Jean feels like Armin should have mentioned, but he probably thought the deception necessary to get Jean to show up. He’d be right.

They’re making honest to god popcorn garlands since, which to Jean seems like a total waste of good snack food, but he’s not going to say anything because Eren keeps eating handfuls when Armin isn’t looking and agreeing with Eren on things always makes him feel like his IQ is dropping. Apparently it’s some sort of Artlet family tradition, in-keeping with all the other old school decorating at Armin’s grandfather’s place, so he’s keeping the jokes to a minimum.

Unlike Eren, who is definitely taking advantage of Armin’s presence to keep him from getting hit for talking shit. Though after his dickery at the party Jean might be prepared to deal with Armin’s displeasure and teach Eren a lesson anyway, especially if he keeps talking: “—so we invited you to tell you to get your shit together because nobody wants to deal with you being an emo bitch just because Marco saw sense and dumped you.”

“Marco didn’t dump me,” Jean snaps. Bad enough that they aren’t together, but if that had happened he doesn’t know what he’d have done. “And if I’m pissed it’s only because you decided to be an asshole and put us both in an awkward position at Mina’s.”

“Hold up, I know you were the one to end things Jean, but, other than that, Eren has a point,” Armin says, because he’s always had a ridiculous blind spot when it comes to Eren.

“What? No he doesn’t,” Jean says. Armin’s need to agree with Eren even when he’s being a moron is so baffling because Armin is so much smarter than that. “And nobody got dumped. We _both_ agreed to the breakup.”

Eren rolls his eyes. “Sure, because it totally makes sense for there to be this much moping involved it you both wanted it. But if it was your call, it’s doubly pathetic that you can’t admit making a mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake.” It hurts, but it had been deliberate and well thought out, the pain is just the price he has to pay. “I knew the choice I was making, it’s just taking a bit longer than expected to move on, that’s all.”

“I don’t think Eren means a mistake as in you did it by accident,” Armin corrects. “But maybe that even if you thought you wanted to break up at the time, if you haven’t moved on then perhaps you made the wrong call.”

Urgh, how can both of them be so naïve? It was never about what he wanted, it was just what had to happen.

“High school relationships never last,” Jean explains.

Armin glances pointedly at Eren.

Ah. Yes. There was that. “Well it’s different for you two,” he allows. “I mean, Eren followed you to Shiganshina and got a job there, you haven’t separated.”

“We made decisions that complemented each other,” Armin points out. “Things didn’t just happen that way.”

“Well, Marco and I both agreed we wanted to be able to experience university as individuals,” Jean replies. “We discussed it at the start of the application period and agreed not to even talk about our choices so that we wouldn’t be tempted to be influenced by one another.”

“And that was sensible,” Armin agrees. “But not following each other didn’t have to mean breaking up. Didn’t you ever consider long-distance?”

Shaking his head, Jean says, “That could never have worked.”

“Well, not with your attitude,” Eren cuts in.

“Shut up,” Jean snaps, throwing an unpopped kernel at Eren. “It was Marco’s idea actually. He said it wouldn’t be in-keeping with the spirit of moving to a new life stage to be restricted by an old relationship.”

“Did he?” Armin asks. “Or did he say something vague that was probably expressing worry about holding you back that you misinterpreted and therefore missed the part where you were supposed to reassure him that wasn't the situation.”

WHAT?

No! Jean remembers the conversation they’d had, maybe not the specifics, not once he’d realised that they really were breaking up and everything had become a blur of emotion as he tried to act like he wasn’t torn up about the prospect, but he knows how it started and he knows Marco well enough that it seems hard to believe he’d have missed it if Marco had been arguing against breaking up. Not when he’d been more than half hoping that Marco would argue, would suddenly break out his usual optimism and say that maybe things would be different for them because what they had was special. But he hadn’t, he’d just agreed it would be best if things were over.

But Armin is the smartest person Jean knows.

Could Marco have been more reluctant about the breakup than he seemed? Jean had hidden his own unhappiness at the situation because he’d known that it was necessary and he’d not wanted to embarrass himself by acting overwrought. It wasn’t so far fetched to think that Marco would do the same. Could they both be regretting the decision? It had hurt but Jean had been ready to deal with that for both of their own good, but if it had hurt Marco too then perhaps it might have been better to…

No. There was no use in thinking like that. What was done, was done. He and Marco are over. Whether Jean likes it or not.

“Even if that was true, it's still over and too late to change that,” Jean reminds Armin. Over-thinking decisions they’ve already made helps nobody. “Someone at Jinae has to have snapped him up by now, he's too much of a catch.”

“I suppose,” Armin allows. “If he was looking.”

“He said he's been dating,” Jean points out. And he’d looked so happy as he’d said it, which seems like a point against Armin’s suggestion that Marco wasn’t perfectly fine with moving on from Jean. “I’m pretty sure he has a girlfriend. I keep seeing pictures of him online with some chick named Cristal or something.”

“Marco’s dating a girl with a stripper name?” Eren says.

Jean ignores him.

Armin is pulling a face. “Where did you get that information from?”

Since Marco doesn’t really do social media, it’s a good question. “I just… saw it around. Trost sports teams compete against Jinae, so I guess there must be some overlap in the people I hang out with and people who know folks at Jinae who might happen to post group updates that include Marco.” Yes, it makes him sound like a crazy stalker but Armin won’t dwell on that information unless he particularly needs to blackmail Jean into something and Eren’s opinion is meaningless.

“General group updates with details of relationship statuses?”

There’s no need for Armin to sound so dubious. Sure, the girlfriend thing had been an inference, but if Marco wasn’t dating that cute new acquaintance, there was bound to be some other love interest who just got tagged in less stuff.

“Look, we both agreed to this. I might regret it, but it was a mutual thing, so it’s not an option for me to just take it back,” Jean reminds him. “And honestly, just because it sucks right now, doesn’t mean forcing a long distance relationship would be a good idea. That shit it hard, even if both people really want it, and I wouldn’t want to drag Marco into that.”

“I think you both acted on a lot of assumptions about how your lives would go after moving away,” Armin says. “Now you’ve seen the reality, it might be a good time to think about what you want and communicate it. Just because sustaining a relationship your circumstances will be hard, doesn’t mean it won’t be worthwhile.”

Which sounds like some grade-A guidance counsellor bullshit. Jean really must seem like a hopeless case if Armin thinks he so doomed that being honest about his feelings can’t make the situation any worse that it already is. That’s up there with ‘be yourself’ in terms of advice that was only applicable if you were already at rock bottom.

Pretty inconvenient, since Jean had been planning on using this visit to talk to Armin about helping out with the Marco’s present situation, but if he isn’t supportive of Jean’s acceptance that everything is terrible and pushing will only make it worse then he’s unlikely to help with Jean’s anonymous gift plans.

Armin will probably suggest something ludicrous like giving the present in person and confessing his feelings too, because outright crushing rejection is good for the soul or something. It’s such a shame a guy so smart spends so much time being dragged down by Eren’s influence.

But now Jean is going to have go with his last resort: Sneaking over to Marco’s house on Christmas eve and leaving the present on the porch and then running away and hoping that nobody catches him in the act so Marco realises how fucked up Jean is over him or, worse, one of his relatives who might toss the gift out before Marco can even see it since if Eva is anything to go by they don’t want him to be any influence in Marco’s life anymore.

Honestly, the new year and being back in Trost with the freedom to mope alone can’t come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which Armin be knowing but jean can't hear anything over the sound of his own dramatics
> 
> **After completing this fic I ended up writing an extra section which fits into the timeline between this chapter and the next, follow the link below if you'd like to jump ahead to read it in chronological rather than posting order:  
> [BONUS SCENE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21622399/chapters/53063416)**


	5. Chapter 5

The day after Christmas is always strange.

All that preparation, all that hype, and then a quiet day with his mother followed by going to bed early because he’d over eaten to the point he was too lazy to move.

And then it’s all over.

He’s awake earlier than he’d like, a consequence of his early night, and the sun hasn’t fully risen yet, the light shining through Jean’s window is a greyish pink and the streets outside are still and quiet.

It ought to be peaceful, but Jean feels ill at ease as he stares at the envelope on his nightstand that he’s been stubbornly ignoring since he’d pulled it from the pile under the tree yesterday.

He’d stared at it, his name inscribed on the front in Marco’s neat cursive, and it had hurt. It wasn’t that he’d expected much, certainly nothing like his own gift to Marco which was borderline inappropriate and would cross that line if he thought Marco had any chance of finding out what he’d paid for it. But even with their breakup, he’d thought their years of friendship would mean he’d merit more than a card. Candy or a new pair of gloves, simple, sure, but something that said Marco had at least spared some thought for him since they parted.

A card was just cold.

Determined not to let the break up infringe on the festivities any more than his usual baseline of wishing that it could have been avoided, he’d set the envelope aside unopened, but now he’s facing it again and it would be rude to ignore it entirely, even if accepting such a signifier of Marco’s indifference is torture.

He slides a finger under the flap, prising apart the glue, and slips the card out.

It’s a simple design, minimalist and trendy, though the weight suggests quality materials. The red and gold will look nice on his desk, but Jean wouldn’t be surprised if Marco had sent the exact same card to a dozen other friends.

Could the message inside be more personal? Marco used to write such sappy things on the inside of the valentines he’d given Jean, filling up the back of the cover with long personal messages about his feelings to go along with the cheesy slogans printed by the manufacturers.

When he opens the card, something immediately slips from between the folds and falls to the floor.

But the words inside the card are uninspiring, Jean’s name, and a handwritten ‘Merry Christmas’ rather than a pre-printed one, closed with Marco’s looping signature.

There are no kisses, no personal message, no sign that Marco shares in his heartbreak or even an indication that they might be far enough past the breakup to try rebuilding their friendship.

Strange how it can have been months and yet Jean’s heart is still capable of feeling like it’s breaking all over again. How was that even possible, when it had never mended after the first time?

He sighs, stooping to grab the rectangles of card that had fallen when he’d opened it, flipping them over.

Then promptly almost drops them again.

Words jump out at him, haphazard, a date in mid-February, the county stadium, standing, admit one.

But there are only a few that matter.

# My Chemical Romance. Never Die Return Tour.

Jean rubs his eyes, but the words don’t change.

What the hell?

Ever since the first reunion show had been announced in mid-fall, Jean had been thrown right back to his early teenage emo phase (though admittedly the heartbreak had already had him relapsing more than a little) and he’d spend the following weeks constantly checking for the announcement of the full tour. When the dates had finally dropped he’d stayed up until three am so he could be online to get tickets the moment they were released, but the site had overloaded and crashed and by the time he’d managed to successfully refresh the window every venue in a hundred miles had sold out. The dates were so few and the fans so passionate, he hadn’t even been able to get scalper tickets, though he’d have been willing to pay the mark-up if that option had been open.

But somehow Marco had got his hands on a pair of tickets. Marco, who was never even a fan. He’d listen when Jean played them, but his own tastes ran more towards indie pop.

And he’d given them to Jean.

It’s not so strange that Marco would know about the reunion, after all it had blown up on social media, but why would he have even been trying to get tickets? And why would he give them away? If he didn’t want them the smart thing to do would have been to sell them, probably at a ridiculous profit, and if Marco’s morals forbade him from technically illicit ticket trading then he still could have given them to a friend he’d actually spoken to in the past few months. After all, Jean could hardly be the only MCR fan in his social circle.

And as jazzed as Jean is to have a ticket, the second one just makes this weird. Well, weirder than getting the impossible thing he’d coveted from his ex-boyfriend. There’s nobody Jean could bring that wouldn’t feel horribly awkward in Marco’s place, using a ticket bought with Marco’s money. Which of his friends could he say, ‘oh, my ex-boyfriend gave me these’ without it turning into a huge thing? And anyway, two tickets usually came with the implication of inviting the giver, but surely Marco couldn’t have meant that. Not when they’ve barely even talked since August.

God. How is he even going to thank Marco for these? If they were still dating the answer would be obvious and mutually enjoyable, but now? They’re barely speaking, any expression of the rush of love Jean had felt when he realised Marco hadn’t blow him off but rather give him the perfect gift, would be unwelcome.

But if they’re going to be all but strangers now, why would Marco give him this?

Jean tucks the tickets into his desk drawer for safe keeping and then sighs.

When they’d broken up he’d thought that he’d be okay in time, but with every day that passes, his feelings towards Marco just seem to grow more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to mcr for getting back together in time for me to indulge in emo jean in this fic :P


	6. Chapter 6

While he’s been away, Jean has tried to keep his woes to himself. Ending a relationship so it won’t hold them back at university doesn’t work if he spends his whole time there opening moping and pining, but it’s harder not to think about Marco when he’s just a few blocks away and they’d be hanging out together if the ending of their romantic relationship hadn’t just involved breaking his own heart a little but torpedoing the friendship that ought to have been protected by the fact he wasn’t going to let the fact he felt more for Marco ruin their futures.

And his runs ins with Marco and now that perfect, wonderful, baffling, gift have made repressing everything a lot harder and some of that must be leaking through into his texts because he wakes to a series of increasingly worried texts from friends who’ve picked up on the fact he’s less than ecstatic to be home and concerned as to his reasons.

He can’t just leave them hanging like this, so he opens the most recent from, from Sasha, asking _what_ _’s up forreal? dorms are open over the break so you can just ditch if home sucs that bad_ and types back _Marco_ , a summation of his world, hitting send before it occurs to him that name means nothing to Sasha.

There is no delay before Sasha’s reply, despite the lack of context, and when he reads the, _Ahhhhh_ _…_ _,_ Jean scowls.

_What_ _’s the supposed to mean????????_

A few moments later, a screen-shot appears in the chat.

Oh.

Huh.

He’d tried very hard to put Marco out of his mind, focus on the new life stage he was moving on to, but that Connie and Sasha are aware of him, that Connie would call Jean obsessed with him… just how much has been slipping through without him even realising?

The screen-shot is followed by a simple message:

_So, deets?_

Jean sighs. He’d meant to keep his troubles from home separate from all his new friends in Trost, but it’s clear Sasha and Connie already know something is up, and if he’s sparked their concern then they’ll keep pushing until they’re satisfied.

_He_ _’s my ex,_ he confesses, _but it turns out getting over your first love takes more than 1 semester_

_Oooof. Run in with the guy who dumped you?_ _😦😦😦😦😦😦😦😦😦_ _sucks bro_

What the hell? Why did everyone keep assuming that was how the relationship went down.

_He didn_ _’t dump me. But we picked different unis and we agreed long distance would be a bad idea._

_Oh shit, where_ _’d he go????_

_Jinae,_ Jean types out, _it_ _’s not that far from home, but the opposite direction to trost, which adds up to two hours_

There’s a long pause and Jean watches the screen flicker back and forth as Sasha types and deletes a response.

Then:

_Two hours???_

_Two hours?????!!!!!_

Jean waits for elaboration, but when none comes he texts back a simple, _Yeah_

_You call that long distance_ _🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣_

Jean stares at the message, baffled by how quickly Sasha’s sympathy has dissipated, but before he can think of a reply, she sends more.

_the nearest high school to dauper was 1h15 by bus! Every day! and that was in good weather. you have a car! and it_ _’s all highways to jinae not mountain roads_

_Just bc your from buttfuck nowhere,_ he replies.

But Sasha’s response is swift and brutal: _you clearly didn_ _’t like the guy that much if you won’t take a short drive for him_

At that, Jean throws his phone across the room, but there is no way to unsee Sasha’s message. The University of Jinae had seemed so far when he’d first learned that Marco was going there and compared to him living just a few streets away the distance was immense, but insurmountable? No. Maybe they wouldn’t have been able to see each other every day, but they could have taken turns visiting each other on weekends or both made the shorter journey back home during the semester instead of waiting for the holidays

But could wasn’t the same as should. Constant travelling would eat into time for studying and socialising in their respective cities, making adapting to university life harder. There was a guy on Jean’s hall with a girlfriend back home, Fritz or Frank or something, and he always seemed torn in half, never really settling in or making new friends because so much of his attention was elsewhere.

Jean didn’t want that. Not for himself or for Marco. Breaking up was best. They’d both agreed that. It wasn’t supposed matter if Jean missed Marco, that was supposed to fade with time.

Yet they’d broken up because everybody said that no matter how in love you thought you were, high school relationships would start to seem silly and childish from the perspective of a university student and Jean’s been away three months and what he had with Marco feels as serious as it ever did. Their relationship wasn’t just teenage lust, he loved Marco. No, he loves Marco. Even now, after all the pain and heartbreak. A two hour drive is nothing compared to the suffering of being without him and there was no reason Jean couldn’t shoulder the burden himself to spare Marco the inconvenience. But it’s like he said to Armin, the mistake has already been made. All these revelations mean is that Jean knows how much of a mistake it was to break his own heart like he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, this convo with sasha putting Jean's long distance woes in perspective was actually the first thing I came up with for this fic
> 
> the end is nigh, and Jean is still a dumbass ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	7. Chapter 7

After the shit show that was Mina’s Christmas party, Jean thinks hard about if he even wants to bother celebrating the new year. It’s going to be the same crowd of people, but drunker, and while he kind of wants to punch Eren in the face, he knows he shouldn’t be seeking out scenarios that will cause that to occur.

But they’re his friends and he’ll be leaving soon. And if he doesn’t go his own only other option is stay home for his mother’s party and at least Jean can punch Eren if he gets in Jean’s face — there’s no such defence against cheek pinching and overly lip-sticked kisses from women who tut over how he’s too skinny now.

Thomas’ party is the better option. The mistletoe should be down by now and Jean will be on his guard against any other nasty surprises.

For the first few hours it works.

The party is a Thomas’ place this time, which mean closer quarters that Mina’s parents sprawling home. He’d expected that to be a disadvantage, forcing him to run into people he’d rather not deal with, but it turns out that in such a small space it’s easy to hear people coming.

He’s not running away, he’s just constantly moving towards people he’d rather see. Who just happen to be in the opposite direction of anywhere he heard Eren’s shouting tones or Marco’s heart-rending laugh.

But as the hour they’re all here to celebrate draws near, the main rooms of the party are getting crowded and, worse, people are talking about their expectations for the moment midnight strikes.

It’s a problem Jean hadn’t even thought about, but it seems making the shift from school-kids to young adults has changed people’s expectations and suddenly kissing at midnight isn't Franz and Hanna being that cringy couple who are all over each other instead of dancing with friends, but what everybody seems to be aiming for.

Except for Jean. Because there’s only one person here he wants to kiss, and since that’s not an option picking a friend to joke around with just doesn’t appeal. And he really doesn't want to see who Marco kisses at midnight.

So as the minute hand begins creeping upward towards twelve, he grabs another beer and ducks behind a living room curtain to slip out onto the patio.

When the French doors shut behind him, they mute the noise of the party, the crowd fading to nothing more than a distant buzz as he wanders down the garden path, pulling his arms around himself at the rush of cold. Fuck. He’s dressed for the heat of the party and even his jacket was picked out with the balmy weather they’ve had of late in mind, but tonight truly feels like winter.

But at least that means the yard is private.

It’s a cloudy night, only the glow of the house and the occasional quickly cut-off moonbeam, but it isn’t difficult to weave his way down the path, although he knows there’s nowhere to go.

The smart thing to do would be get over his feelings, but that’s been true this whole time and his efforts have been in vain. The next best thing must be finding some way to live with the heartache, people go on with broken hearts all the time, but he’s all out of ideas and there doesn’t seem to be anybody he can turn to for advice that won’t either dismiss the strength of his feelings or disagree with his solution of accepting what he’s lost.

He’s turning the problem over in his head to no avail when he hears soft footsteps approaching, and somehow he knows, even before he turns, that his thoughts have summoned their subject.

Marco looks amazing, again, and it’s not the result of anything in particular that he’s done with his appearance, it’s just that the world in conspiring against Jean and so what little moonlight there is makes Marco’s eyes shine as a faint breeze ruffles his hair and carries the warm scent of his cologne in Jean’s direction.

His heart leaps, painfully, pointlessly, in his chest.

God, how did he ever convince himself he’d be able to get over this?

It’s the first time they’ve been alone together since the breakup and Jean is lost for words, but Marco had approached with purpose and mercifully he doesn’t delay.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says.

“For what?” For staying out of his way? For not spilling his feelings everywhere and making the situation even more messy and awkward than it already is.

Marco shoots him a rueful look, as if Jean is being deliberately dense. “For the gift of course. “How on earth did you find it? I have alerts on every web store out there and I’ve never seen an affordable listing.”

“The…” The gift. The stupid, over the top, inappropriate gift that Marco wasn’t supposed to associate with him. “I didn’t leave a note,” Jean points out.

Marco laughs, bright and honest with none of the awkwardness that he’d been unable to mask during their recent encounters, and it warms Jean even before he says, “Were you worried I wouldn’t realise who it was from? Jean, who else do you think ever listened to my stupid rambling about them enough to recognise the rare one my collection was missing?”

“Oh.” Could it really have been so obvious? Nobody else knew about Jean’s plans to give them away but Marco’s collection is no secret, Jean can’t be the only one who’d see what a present like that would mean to him. “I…” the tickets, if they’re talking about presents then he needs to thank Marco for the tickets. “Thanks to you, too,” he mumbles lamely. How in the hell is he supposed to articular his response to such a brilliant, baffling gift? “I was seriously considering scalper tickets when I missed out. But how did you get them under my tree?”

Marco frowns. “I came over, but you weren’t around, so I gave them to your mom.”

Huh. Jean’s mother had been asking again when Marco would be stopping by, even knowing full well they’d broken up, as if she hadn’t realised the strain it’s placed on their friendship. Except perhaps that wasn’t her reason, if Marco had been visiting in secret.

“Well, thanks,” he says. Is this the part where he ought to offer Marco first dibs on the second ticket? But his indecision takes too long and Marco speaks again.

“Okay, honestly, I did have a moment of confusion working out who the furby was from,” he admits, “But only because I thought you hated them.”

Jean had at the time, but he misses Marco so badly that he’s almost started to miss having the creepy fuckers watching him sleep too, if that meant being back in Marco’s bed. And anyway, Marco loves the damn things to a demented degree, and Jean would do far worse that harbour one to make Marco happy. He’d only had a few nightmares about the thing coming awake in the night and eating his soul.

But so much for making Marco happy with the gift, he looks like he's up in front of a firing squad as he continues, “The thing is, I love it, but I don’t understand it.”

What’s to understand? It’s a furby. Marco has plenty and he knows how they operate. Jean’s no expert but he’s pretty sure the one he bought wasn’t defective, he’d tested it with fresh batteries and its eyes had followed him as it cackled demonically just like the damn things were supposed to.

“What’s not to understand?”

Marco sighs. “Everything. We’ve barely spoken since the summer, and I thought maybe things would be easier with us both back in town… then Eve let slip that she saw you at the store, but you didn’t come over to say ‘hi’.”

Jean gaped. He’d known Eve wanted him out of Marco’s life, but to tell that story and not mention the fact she’d all but forbidden him from approaching feels like a betrayal. And sure, he’d had no intention of taking to Marco, but Marco wouldn’t have needed to know.

“I had stuff to get for Christmas dinner,” it’s a lame excuse but, “You know how my mum is when it comes to cooking.”

“That’s what I thought, that maybe you were busy or in a hurry, but at Mina’s party, you seemed like you could barely stand to be around me and then the mistletoe happened and you were horrified at the suggestion of kissing me, like it was some awful ordeal. I tried to go easy on you, but you still looked so miserable afterwards. I figured things were ruined between us,” Marco confesses.

Finally. One of them has said it. Jean hates it, but perhaps abandoning awkward lies in favour of honesty — that mutual agreement hasn’t kept their breakup from being a messy friendship-destroying one — is all they can hope for.

Except Marco isn’t done.

“Then I opened your present. To have found such a rare collectible, when you must be so busy in Trost, and to give it to me when you could have made so much money selling it… It didn’t fit with all my fears and so I hoped… But tonight you’ve been avoiding me again.”

“I…” he can’t lie, not to Marco, but that doesn’t mean he has to spill his guts. But perhaps he can be truthful about his actions without sharing all the reasons behind them. “It’s been difficult,” he admits. “I thought we would just go back to how we were before, when I saw the furby I thought of you and for a moment nothing was complicated but then we both got back here and… I don’t know how.”

For a moment Marco doesn't reply. His drink swishes in his bottle as he fidgets with it, tugging at the label, before saying, "I meant all the stuff I said when we broke up."

Oof.

Jean hasn't been able to delude himself that he's over Marco, but he'd thought he'd been repressing it well enough to keep anybody from catching on. But apparently Marco thinks the Jean needs reminding.

"I know, you want independence and shit," Jean says, trying to keep his tone from revealing the bitterness he feels. "It made sense, after having limited options in a town like this, to want to explore university hook-up culture without a clingy boyfriend slowing you down."

"Jean, I didn't… I don't care about hooking-up, that was never the point. We agreed, everyone agreed avoiding long distance was the right thing to do to avoid making things messy; my mum even congratulated me when I told her it was over between us."

Jean gapes. He knew Marco's parents had been leery of him at first, thought he was some punk trying to lead their angelic son astray, but he'd really thought they'd warmed to him and he'd considered the Bodt's a second family, terrifying sisters not excluded.

"She said it was brave, that she knew I was hurting but better a little hurt then than dragging it out and having a miserable experience at college missing you,” Marco explains. “But… it’s been three months and I miss you, Jean."

Fuck. Jean's heart pounds in his chest. He shouldn't get his hopes up, but, "Trost isn't really that far from Jinae," and some of his stupid hope bleeds into his voice but that doesn't seem as important as it did before, not when Marco misses him. "I could visit"

Does that sound desperate? Because truth be told he rather is. Sitting here in the crisp night air with Marco, waiting for the fireworks in the distance, makes him long to close the gap between them, to lean his head on Marco's shoulder and be teased about only being into him for his warmth. But acting like the worst stereotype of a needy ex is not going to help rebuild their friendship.

"Or… you come back to visit your family, right?" Jean amends. "If I met you here that would only be an hour's travel each and not even an extra trip for you. My mum has been on my case to visit anyway, so she'd love you for giving me reason to come back."

"It's not your mum I want to love me."

Jean can feel his jaw slacked embarrassingly. Marco can’t mean…?

“If we can save our friendship, I’ll be glad of that,” Marco assures him. “But that’s not… not being your friend anymore is a horrible side effect, but it’s not the heart of things… I could learn to be satisfied, if we could just fix that, but I hope…”

“You just said breaking up with me was right,” Jean reminds him, only realising after the words are already said that even he has now fallen into the trap of not remembering the breakup was mutual.

“I said I meant it, not that I haven’t realised my mistakes” Marco corrects, “Breaking up was the sensible thing to do, but I was waiting for you to fight it. For you to be the bad influence everyone always assumed you were and talk me into staying together. But that wasn’t fair and I should have known better, because you never were that guy.”

Back in those last days of summer, they'd both talked so sensible but it had been a blow to his ego that Marco hadn't shown any sign of wanting to fight for what was between them, if Marco had disagreed then Jean might have gambled with the prospect of things going badly just because he couldn't bear to refuse Marco anything. And now there is no hypothetical worse scenario, not when their friendship is holding together by a thread, and Marco is sitting here implying that if Jean had stepped up resist he might have been able to save things, but instead he’d assumed the worst was bound to happen and made no attempt to keep their relationship from dying.

“I’m sorry,” Jean says. He’d never wanted Marco to feel less than valued.

“No, I’m sorry,” Marco presses on. “You’re not argumentative Jean, not really. And you’re not a troublemaker either. You don’t want people to get hurt, you didn’t want us to hurt, so of course you’d go along with whatever everybody was telling you was the safe option. I should have considered.”

Jean swallows deeply. Marco’s always had a knack for finding the good in him, for seeing his actions in the best possible light and putting well-intentioned justification to what mostly feels like impulse to Jean. To anybody else, Jean’s actions would have been cowardice to protect his own heart, but even with things as bad between them as they are, Marco still looks at him and sees something worth admiring. But Jean’s not sure that’s he’s right.

“A clean break was supposed to hurt less.” Jean sighs. “It was supposed to stop things from getting this bad.”

Marco nods. “We agreed the complications of long distance would ruin our friendship, but it feels like we’ve ruined it anyway. I used to think it was great, that I had a best friend and then a boyfriend I never fought with,” he says. “But now I wish I’d fought you on that.”

Jean shakes his head. The decision had been mutual and he won’t have Marco taking the blame. “If you’d fought, I wouldn’t have listened. Not what I was so convinced that breaking up was just cutting to the inevitable anyway.”

“Inevitable? Do you believe that?” Marco says. “That we were doomed regardless of the decision we made.”

Jean shrugs. “That’s what everybody said.”

“Well, I still love you,” Marco admits, the declaration that Jean has been twisting himself in knots trying to hold back falling easily from his lips. “And I… maybe I’m misjudging this, but I think you still care about me too.”

Of course he does. How could he not? “But—” long distance would be hard and if they couldn’t make it work things would get painful and messy. But being without Marco was already hard, and with everything that had happened since returning there was no pretending that their breakup hadn’t already been disastrous. Jean had already concluded that he’d wrecked their friendship and broken his own heart, but if Marco is feeling the same way, then maybe there’s nothing to lose by trying. Still, “All of the problems from before still stand.”

Marco shrugs. “Maybe, but I think it’s worth a try. It is a risk and most people couldn’t make it work in our circumstances, but we could be the exception.”

Could what they have really be so special? That their love would be the one that can handle the distance, the hardship, the strain? Jean wishes it were so, but it’s hard to believe. “Those are long odds.”

Marco gives a wry chuckle. “I know, I know. All that time people spent worrying that you were a bad influence on me, and now here I am trying to talk you into doing something everybody has warned us is a bad idea. We both wanted to keep it from hurting, but it hasn’t worked me and I don’t think you’d have avoided me like this, have looked at me the way you did after I kissed you, if it had worked for you either. So I want to take it back. I want to be with you, if you’ll try with me.”

Jean can’t look into Marco’s eyes, not when Marco is saying Jean’s feelings aloud too, and so instead he focuses of the speck of white he’s just spotted among Marco’s freckles, high on the bridge of his nose. Oh. And another on his left cheek.

Then another, clinging delicately to his lashes.

Snow.

Snow, after the warmest December he can ever remember.

Jean has spent every moment since returning dreading that Marco discovers his lingering affection, and yet here Marco is, pouring out his own wish to try again with every air of intending to continue until Jean gives him an answer, so focused on Jean he doesn’t seem to have even noticed the tiny pale flakes to brush them away.

Breaking up was supposed to protect both of them, but if Marco is hurting? If Marco is missing him? How can Jean do anything but take the leap of faith back into his arms?

He takes an unsteady step forward, and answers by kissing the flecks of snow from Marco’s lips.

Somehow, despite being outside nearly as long as Jean, Marco is warm and he quickly engulfs Jean in that heat, arms wrapping around him and pulling him close, and this, this feels like coming home ought to. How had he ever been able to give this up, when the brush of Marco’s hands, even icy cold, is worth any pain? When the sound of Marco’s sweet sigh as Jean reaches up to thread fingers through his hair is heaven to his ears?

Distantly he hears shouts from the house and then the sound of explosions in the sky, but Jean couldn't care less about the fireworks above them, not when he’s finally feeling the fireworks between Marco and himself once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin.
> 
> Shoutout to tifasugar who called Marco seeing straight through Jean's anonymous gift bs the moment it came up, and my 💖 to everyone who has commented, kudos'd, and read along. May all your 2020's get off to as wonderful a start as these boys' have.


	8. BONUS CHAPTER - Santa Shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quinn mentioned in a comment wanting to see Jean's attempt at stealthy present delivery and then I started imagining it, so have this extra scene of Jean being ridiculous.
> 
> Chronologically this scene falls between chapters 4 and 5.

When Jean was young, Christmas eve was a time for excitement. Now the only anticipation he feels in infused with dread.

The date serves as a deadline.

It’s time to deliver Marco’s present.

And since no better route has presented itself, Jean is going to have to do it himself. Although not in person, because, god, hadn’t his last run in with Marco been painful enough? His face still burns every time he remembers that agonising kiss to his cheek.

The one mercy is that he won’t have to have the creepy thing in his room anymore, sparing him the feeling that it’s staring at him despite being squared away in a giftbox -- the shape of a furby way too awkward to get wrapping paper around, with the bonus that the box means there’s no risk of him being identified by his sloppy corners and overuse of tape.

Fortunately Marco’s family home is only a few streets away, and Jean’s mom is busy in the kitchen and won’t miss him if he slips out for a short while.

Of course, she won't be impressed by him ditching on Christmas eve, if he tells her he's going out she'll immediately suggest he help in the kitchen even though it really isn't big enough for both of them to use without getting in each other's way, so he leaves the TV on low and heads out the back door, climbing over the fence to avoid the squeaking of the gate.

The streets are pretty quiet, most people want to spend this time of year with the families not roaming the town, and those who went to the children’s mass are already home and there’s still a little time left before people start leaving if they’re heading to a midnight mass. Still, as he turns onto Marco’s street, Jean pulls his hood up to hide his face -- even though it’ll make him look strange since it’s both dry and not particularly cold. Knowing his luck of late, one of the curtain-twitching old ladies in the neighbourhood will decide he looks suspicious and call the cops. Not that it should matter, because this ought to be a quick drop off.

Except now he’s standing at the end of the driveway, staring up at Marco’s house, feeling the warm glow of their tasteful lights and almost certain he can smell gingerbread and hear the faint sound of Christmas music drifting through a open windows somewhere and taunting the aching longing in his heart, and realises the flaw in his plan.

He’d meant to leave the gift on the porch to be found, but settled in so nicely for Christmas, do any of the Bodt’s have a reason to go out?

Dropping the gift off earlier would have been premature, but if he leaves it there now there’s a chance that it will sit there until after Christmas and while a late gift wouldn’t be the end of the world it would… well, he just doesn’t want that.

Somebody needs to come to the porch to know the gift is there.

Jean is going to have to draw attention to himself.

Without getting caught.

Oh, why does he get himself into these positions?

Throwing something to make a noise is an option, but he has a few too memories of youthful folly to be confident of that. Accidentally putting a rock though one of the windows would not be a festive gesture.

So realistically, he’s going to have to approach.

Stealthily.

But with every tiptoed step up the driveway he swears the gravel crunches so sound it can almost be heard from streets away, never mind inside, and as he reaches the house, heart pounding, he remembers something awful.

Marco’s front steps creak.

They creak like something out of horror movie, a slow shriek that back in the day had been there alarm that somebody was near, a chance to straighten up so that when Marco’s parents came in they would have every appearance of doing homework or watching a family friendly movie and Jean absolutely hadn’t been taking advantage of being alone to do his level best to deflower their son (even though the deflowerment had been entirely mutual and Jean is sure they must have known, because Marco hated keeping secrets from the people closest to him and had never been good at sticking to a lie).

Maybe they’ve been repaired while Jean has been away, but he highly doubts it.

The only option will be to move fast.

He takes his first step, hearing the echoing noise that has surely alerted the occupants of the house to his presence, then darts up the remainder, only slowing when he reaches the door because Marco’s gift needs to be set down gently, he’s not going to risk tearing the paper and making it look thoughtlessly given or, god forbid, somehow breaking the thing by dropping it – both because it would defeat the point to give a damaged gift and because of his terror of what would happen to the demonic soul inside if it’s vessel came to harm.

As he straightens, he sees a silhouette appear through the frosted glass, moving closely, and he can’t quite make out who it is yet, but he knows by the time they get to the door they’ll be able to see well enough despite the dappling of the pane and then all Jean’s plans will be ruined.

Fuck! He’d figured that they’d be in the middle of some Christmas activity, no doubt a wholesome game of charades or decorating cookies, and be slow to come to the door. But the handle is already moving and so Jean dives, dropping over the side of the porch to hide.

But as he lands, his foot clips the trash can, knocking it over with a clatter.

It’s empty, thank fuck for small mercies, but the sound it bound to have drawn attention. He hears a soft gasp from up on the porch, not enough to give away who it is and Jean’s still not sure who he fears more, then the rustling of paper as they pick up the gift first, but there’s no way they aren’t going to investigate the noise and there’s nowhere to run.

Except…

He eyes Marco’s grandmother’s prize rosebushes with trepidation.

Cut through there and he should have time to get across a few yards before anybody walks around them to see.

But _rosebushes_ …

The porch steps creek.

Somebody is coming to investigate the knocked over trash cans.

Jean is seconds from being caught: from one of the Bodt’s realising that he’s responsible for the gift to Marco and he still cares far more than he ought to, when Marco no longer loves him and Eve has warned him away.

Drawing a deep breath, he lunges towards the bushes.

This is going to hurt, but what are a few scratches compared to the state of his heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Resume at chapter 5.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21622399/chapters/52429987)


End file.
